Relics
by Grav
Summary: After nearly destroying the world in grief, H.G. Wells is taken to the Sanctuary for "a fate worse than Bronzing".
1. Chapter 1

**AN**: Oh, Crossovers! They always seem like such a good idea.

**Spoilers**: This is set after season two of Warehouse 13 and sometime between "Trail of Blood" and "Breach" in Sanctuary. There aren't really any spoilers for Sanctuary, but there are some HUGE ones for Warehouse 13. That said, if you've never seen W13 and don't plan to, you should be able to read this (and then go watch the show! Because it's awesome!). Oh, I also blow the ending of "The Invisible Man", just for good measure. ;)

**Disclaimer**: I do not own or make money from Sanctuary or Warehouse 13. I love them anyway, though. ;)

**Rating**: Teen

**Characters**: Oh, gosh, EVERYONE? Except maybe John? Seriously, flashbacks really open up your casting pool. Helen Magnus and H.G. Wells are the big ones, though.

**Summary**: After nearly destroying the world in grief, H.G. Wells is taken to the Sanctuary for "a fate worse than Bronzing".

* * *

**Relics**

**Prologue**

Magnus wasn't in her office when Kate went looking for her. A quick scan of the security cameras revealed that she wasn't in the lab, the SHU or any other public area. For a moment, Kate wondered if her boss had simply broken precedent and gone to bed for the evening. Kate wouldn't have blamed her. Trying to keep Will and Henry out of trouble was exhausting enough before you added Nikola Tesla to the mix.

Then Kate remembered the parapet. For a moment, she hesitated. For all that Magnus trusted her, for all Kate knew she'd _earned_ that trust, the roof was Will's domain; the protégé. Kate didn't envy him his job, or his career track, having spent enough time with Declan MacRae to understand what running a Sanctuary, not to mention prolonged exposure to a member of The Five, did to a normal person. She did acknowledge that he outranked her, though, and she wasn't sure it was her place to go looking for Magnus up on the roof. It wasn't like her news was particularly important. If Will wasn't off on a mission with Henry, Kate would have just reported her news to him and turned in for the night.

Kate sat down on the sofa to wait, and pulled out the well read copy of "The Invisible Man" she'd bought at a used bookstore a few weeks before. Kate hated being caught unawares, and when it became apparent that running into certain historical or presumed-fictional character on a regular basis would be part of her job description, she'd set about doing her research.

The library had been sufficient for all the other members of The Five. The biographies of Jack the Ripper had been nearly pristine, as though no one ever actually read them or wanted to think about the theories. The copies of Sherlock Holmes had been mauled nearly to death, as though they'd been read as homework by someone who would rather have been wrestling a gundark. The Tesla biographies were heavily annotated, and sometimes quite sarcastically so. Kate had no problem leafing through them,

Magnus's copy of "The Invisible Man", however, was a first edition, and Kate didn't really trust herself with anything over fifty. Her nervousness with the book, coupled with the fact that, since he was most likely dead, Nigel seemed the least probable to show up at random, had contributed to her getting to him last, but when she saw the title in the used bookstore, she'd decided to take it as a sign. The story was more than a little bit creepy, it turned out, and Kate found herself hoping that Nigel was, in fact, safely in the ground somewhere.

She was just about to call it a night when Magnus came in, wrapped in a shawl and deep in thought. Seeing her face, Kate was almost sorry she'd stuck around. It didn't look like her boss needed to deal with anything else tonight, but Magnus was already looking at her, so it was too late.

"Just wanted to let you know," Kate said apologetically. "There's going to be a shipment of keiro beetles coming in tomorrow. My source says the buyer is someone we should probably pay attention to. I can take care of it, if you like, but I thought you should know."

"Thank you," Magnus said, looking less tired than she had when she'd arrived. It was like the day to day dealings of the Sanctuary had been enough to lift her out of her funk. Then her eyes fell on the book in Kate's hands, and her face darkened again. "Homework?" she said, curiously.

"It seemed like a good idea," Kate replied, shifting uncomfortably.

"Your timing is excellent," Helen said. Her voice was slightly sharp, and there was a tightness around her eyes that only appeared when she was thinking of the past.

"Nigel Griffin is – " Kate began, sitting up quickly.

"No, not Nigel," Helen said, sadly. "And thank heavens. He is safely dead."

"Then who?" Kate asked.

"The author," Helen said, holding up a hand to stall Kate's next question. "It's a long story, and we don't have time for it before their arrival."

"Who's they?" Kate said, feeling like she was back at school and had missed several lessons in a row.

"H.G. Wells was not the man history remembers," Helen said, her voice full of memories. Some of them might even have been happy, once, but time had poisoned them. "There was violence and murder, and my agency was not consulted in the matter."

"What happened?"

"The process is called Bronzing." Helen's expression was pained and repulsed. "The subject is turned into a sentient bronze statue. H.G. was, for some reason I do not know, unBronzed a short time ago, and for a while it appeared that rehabilitation might be achieved."

"No dice, huh." Kate didn't say it as a question.

"No," Helen said shortly. "And rather than submitting to Bronzing again, the Regents have honoured my original request to be Wells's keeper for the foreseeable future."

The intercom on Helen's desk buzzed and the Big Guy's voice was heard: "The Regents are here."

"Come on, then," Helen said. Kate swallowed a dozen questions and followed her down to the main foyer.

Three people stood waiting there with the Big Guy. A tall Indian man, who managed to look both serene and extremely pissed off at the same time, was talking to the Big Guy. Behind him, a stocky woman kept a close eye on the third member of the party. And the third figure, her long brown hair tied back gracelessly and her hands and feet cuffed, looked up at Helen with an unpleasant smile.

"Hello, Helen," H.G. Wells said, her voice as cold as her expression.

"You know," said Kate to no one in particular, "I'm not even surprised."

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_1893_

Caleb brought the card in on the tea tray, setting it down on the wooden desk out of reach of anything that looked particularly flammable or poisonous, and waited politely to see if Dr. Magnus would need anything else. She didn't usually, but Caleb couldn't help but glance at the note as he brought it upstairs, and even though he hadn't read it, he did notice who it was from. He was doing his very best not to project his thoughts to her, having become rather proud of the measure of control he'd attained since moving into the Sanctuary all those months ago, but perhaps he leaked a bit around the edges, because Dr. Magnus straightened and came over for the tray without bothering to turn down the Bunsen burner.

"I'm terribly sorry," Caleb said, restoring some sense of order to his mind.

"No harm done," Dr. Magnus said, returning to the bench to adjust the flame. She was always understand of his slips, which he appreciated. "What is it?"

"A telegram, doctor," he said, and handed it over.

Dr. Magnus read quickly, telegrams were always brief anyway, and Caleb didn't have to be empathic to realize the exact moment she'd understood the message. It was going to be as exciting as he'd thought.

"Please pass this along to Dr. Watson," Magnus said. "And then send a message to Nigel Griffin, inviting him for dinner this evening."

"I'll tell the cook it will be five for dinner," Caleb said.

"Thank you," Magnus said, already turning back to her work. Caleb let his guard down just a little bit, and sensed waves of apprehension but also tremendous curiosity emanating from the doctor. Her face betrayed none of it, of course. If nothing else, dinner was going to be absolutely fascinating.

"And the wine?" he said as lightly as possible.

"Don't bother," Dr. Magnus said. "He'll probably have raided the cellar before he rings the bell."

Caleb didn't allow himself to smile until after he'd quit the laboratory. Yes, dinner was definitely going to be interesting.

* * *

"I'm almost positive you're supposed to be in Chicago right now," James said. He managed not to sigh when it became apparent that Nikola was going to pick up every single item on the mantelpiece and fiddle with it, but only just.

"If I stayed around much longer, I mightn't have been able to control my gloating," Nikola said. "I would hate to be unseemly."

His grin was positively wicked, and James realized that whatever had brought him back to England would have be momentous in order to have pried him away from his triumph in America. Caleb, having poured the brandy into the decanter, hesitated over the cigar box. It was early, but it was also Nikola Tesla, and sometimes in the face of the man's company, Watson let propriety slide a little bit for the sake of his sanity.

"Out with it, then," he said impatiently. James had any number of things to do this week, and had not counted on an interruption. He made eye contact with Caleb and shook his head slightly, which Caleb took as his cue to leave and head back to the kitchen.

"I can hardly get on with it without my guest," Nikola said. "As she's the reason I came back at all. You'll just have to wait for dinner, like everyone else."

James had not seen the young woman who had been Tesla's traveling companion. Nikola had come straight to his study, but she had gone upstairs to change out of her traveling clothes. Apparently she, at least, had the proper sense of English decorum. Even without seeing her, however, James was able to deduce a few things about her. She wasn't sleeping with Nikola, for a start. Nikola would be even more insufferable if she was.

"I love watching you try to figure everything out without being told," Nikola said, returning James's look. "Reminds me of the old days."

"For heaven's sake, don't mention the old days at dinner," James said. "It's not the sort of discussion we should have in mixed company."

"Oh, I think Helena might surprise you," Nikola said with a grin. James realized with a sinking feeling that the vampire had probably already outed the lot of them.

"Helena?" James said.

"Miss Wells, if you'd rather," Nikola said.

"It would be less confusing," James pointed out.

"I've never had any problem telling them apart," Nikola said, somewhat salaciously. James ignored him.

"I don't think it's appropriate to bring members of the general public round for tea just because you happen to like them," James said pointedly.

"My dear James, if Helen hasn't offered her your job by dessert, I won't darken your doorstep until the new millennium."

James glared at him. In a room below them, a bell sounded, signaling that the table was laid.

"Shall we go down then?" James said, gesturing towards the door.

"I can't wait," Nikola replied, and led the way to the dining room.

* * *

_Present Day_

"So I'm guessing there's more to the story than, you know, the story," Kate said, waving the copy of _The Invisible Man_ she still held in her hands in a vague manner.

It had been a couple of hours since their new visitor had arrived, and so far there was no sign that Helen was going to get any less tense, much less go to bed. Kate had passed over any number of opportunities to set the book down because she had the feeling she'd be more comfortable with something to worry in her hands.

H.G. Wells had been confined to a bare cement cell in the SHU, which Kate thought was a bit extreme. A single glance at her boss revealed that Magnus felt the same way, but neither of them said anything as they watched Wells's jailers check and re-check the security around her cell. When they finally deemed it secure, they retired to the guest rooms, guided by the Big Guy. Kate had followed Helen back to her office, because she had a lot of questions, and even though she was pretty sure Magnus was in a bad mood, she was equally sure that this was one of those times when her boss should not keep secrets.

"There always is," Helen said. She poured a cut of tea and extended it to Kate, who took it and headed to the sofa. "Shall I start at the beginning?"

"I think that might make it worse," Kate said. Stories involving The Five rarely turned out to be simple. "Why don't you start with who everyone is."

"Fair enough," Helen said, settling on the sofa with her own teacup in both hands. "As you know, the Sanctuary was created to protect abnormals from humans and vice versa. What I didn't realize was that when I started the network, there was already a much older organization in place. It doesn't protect animals and people, but rather collects and stores artefacts, strange things that have unexplained powers."

"I knew this was going to be good," Kate said as Helen paused for a sip of tea. Helen raised an eyebrow, but kept talking.

"It's called the Warehouse, and there have been 13 of them to date. In America, the Warehouse is under the purview of the Treasury Department," she said. "When I met Helena, she had just been apprenticed to Warehouse 12, which functioned as an offshoot of the British Museum."

"How old are we talking?" Kate asked.

"Warehouse 2 was hidden from the Romans when Caesar invaded Egypt," Helen said. "Warehouse 1 was started by Alexander the Great."

"Why are we talking about the Warehouse?" said a voice behind her. Kate jumped and nearly spilled her tea all over her lap, and turned to glare at the intruder.

Nikola smirked at her from the doorway. He had put off his suit jacket and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. The ever present wine glass was in his hand as he made his way across the room and made himself comfortable on the other couch. "Also, we're out of wine."

"I don't particularly care about that at the moment, Nikola," Helen said. "Besides, if you spent any time at all out of the library, you might have learned to take care of yourself by now."

"I get busy," Nikola said.

"You smell," Kate said.

"You're not answering my question," Nikola said. "Why are we talking about the Warehouse?"

"Helena is here. In the SHU." Helen said the words quickly, as though trying to get it over with as soon as possible.

"Helena is in the SHU?" Nikola repeated the words slowly, seemingly stunned. He shook his head as though to clear it. "Helena is _alive_?"

"They Bronzed her, Nikola." Helen's voice was suddenly gentle.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't want you in there with her," Helen said.

"I need to see her." Nikola started up from the couch, but Helen raised her hand and he stopped.

"Nikola, give her tonight," she said in that same gentle tone. "Wait for the Regents to leave."

Nikola slumped back on the sofa and took a long drink of his wine. Kate looked back and forth between her boss and the former vampire, putting pieces together as quickly as she could.

"So, you and H.G. Wells?" she said finally, once it looked like Nikola had more or less gotten a hold of himself.

"It was nothing like that," Nikola said with a careless wave of his free hand. "It was entirely professional. We collaborated on a number of projects, both for Warehouse 12 and the Sanctuary. She was my friend."

"She was mine too," Helen said.

"What happened to her?" Kate said.

Again, Helen and Nikola exchanged a long look. It was Helen who spoke. "Her daughter died. Was murdered, actually. She was never the same after that."

Kate took a sip of her tea to cover his discomfort.

"I tried to help her," Helen said. "But the Warehouse wouldn't let me."

"But they're letting you help now?" Nikola said.

"For whatever reason, they're not Bronzing her again," Helen said. "I offered years ago to contain her, and they are taking me up on it."

Nikola drained his glass and stood up. Kate noticed that he rocked ever so slightly on his feet. Under different circumstances, she might have smiled at that. Nikola usually forgot about his newly reacquired ability to be affected by alcohol, and he was proving to be an amusing enough drunk, when he didn't turn maudlin.

"Nikola?" Helen said, sounding worried but firm.

"I'm so depressed I'm going to bed," he said, and shuffled out of the room without another word. That in and of itself was worrying, Kate thought.

His departure seemed to take the last bit of resolve out of Helen as well. Kate watched as her boss all but deflated into the sofa, her cup still cradled in front of her like tea really would solve all her problems. That too might have made Kate smile under different circumstances.

"The guys'll be back tomorrow," Kate said, hoping that the reminder would make Magnus feel better. "Strength in numbers and so on."

"I'm not sure how much that will help," Helen said. She had a faraway look in her eyes, and Kate couldn't tell if she was thinking about Ashley or Oxford. Or both.

"So what do we do now?" Kate asked.

"I am going to bed," Helen said with a shrug. She finished the last of her tea and set the cup down on the table in front of her. "I recommend you do the same. The next few days are likely to be interesting."

"Good interesting or bad interesting?"

"Ask me in a week or so," Helen said.

It wasn't precisely a dismissal, but Kate chose to take it as such and stood up. She bid Magnus good night, and headed back to her room, _The Invisible Man_ still in her hand. She was way too wired to sleep, but she got into bed anyway and opened the book to where she'd stopped reading a few short hours ago. It felt like an awful lot had happened in that short time.

_The Invisible Man_ wasn't her usual kind of reading material, and until tonight she was having trouble wresting her way through it. Now, she found herself turning pages like one compelled, all thoughts of sleep driven from her mind. As she read about the fictionalized Griffin's descent into insanity, plans for a Reign of Terror and eventual demise at the hand of his own best friend, Kate couldn't help but wonder whose fictionalized life she'd spent the whole evening holding in her hands.

* * *

TBC..**  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_1895_

"You'd read it if Helen had written it," Helena argued.

From the doorway, Caleb flinched. Fortunately, his two years of practice allowed him the dexterity to react to the overflowing emotions in the room without spilling anything off the tea tray. He settled for hoping to get in and out as quickly as possible, and back to the kitchen where it was both quiet and calm.

"Helen would never write such a thing," James retorted.

"You didn't have a problem with Mr. Doyle," Helena said. "But I suppose he rather appealed to your ego, what with immortalizing you in print and all."

No one had asked him, but had they done so, Caleb would have been forced to admit that the days following one of James's interviews with Doyle were terribly amusing for him. Dr. Magnus would always hover on the edge of mirth, fighting very hard to suppress all signs of it and maintain polite conversation, while Dr. Watson was very nearly insufferable. It was like walking along the edge of a steep slope, and if one of them pushed the other even slightly, the resulting hysteria would overwhelm his empathic senses. It was something of a rush.

"Holmes will be used to train an entire generation of young minds to think properly," James said.

"Young male minds, you mean," Helena sniped, just as Doctor Magnus entered the room.

"Is there another kind?" Watson said, not having seen her.

"Why James, what a thing to say," Helen said. "I'm quite offended."

"Helen, you know I – " James began, but Caleb knew the great thinker was lost.

"You've wounded me, James." Helen feigned great drama. "And the only way to make it up to me is to read the book."

James glared at her, but conceded the point and took the proffered manuscript from Helena with no degree of gentleness.

"I shall be witheringly honest," he said darkly.

"I should expect nothing less," Helena said, quite happy now that she had her victory. "I want it to be nearly perfect when I let Helen read it."

"Nigel tells me he thought it was quite good," Helen said, settling into her chair and taking the cup that Caleb handed her. "Though he told me nothing of the story itself."

"Which is as I bid him," Helena replied, taking her own cup. "Thank you, Caleb."

"You're welcome, Miss Wells," Caleb said, already preparing for the reply he knew was coming.

"Helena, please," she said, as she always did. "We're of the same station after all."

James muttered something that sounded a great deal like "socialists" under his breath, but was already several pages into the manuscript and it was clear his attempt was more of habit than of any real conviction. He took his tea without even looking up, and then paused.

"Wait a moment," he said. "Why did Nigel get to read it first?"

"Are you jealous, Dr. Watson?" Helena said.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, taking a biscuit off the tray. He returned to reading.

"Will there be anything else, Dr. Magnus?" Caleb asked. Suddenly he was much less eager to quit the room. He knew that his report of how Watson really felt about the book would be almost as useful to Helena as anything Watson might actually tell her.

"Thank you, Caleb, no," Helen said, but she winked so that he knew he could stay if he liked. "But at some point before it gets too late, would you tell the cook that Dr. Tesla will be joining us for dinner?"

At that, both Helena and James bristled, and Caleb felt as though the temperature in the room had dropped several degrees.

"He promised me a decade at least," James said. "I suppose it was too much to expect him to keep his word."

"To be fair, Helen did offer me a job," Helena said with a reluctant grin. "Just not yours. And Nikola had no way of knowing I was already spoken for, because I hadn't told him."

"I trust you'll all manage to be civil," Helen said. She didn't look particularly optimistic. "And anyway, I thought you and Nikola parted on good terms, Helena."

"Oh we did," she said. "But I've since learned that he had the gall to name the weapon I helped him invent after himself, and quite shut me out of any credit I might have otherwise got for the designs."

"Whyever would you want your name on a gun?" James said. "It seems a dreadfully American thing to do."

"That's probably why he did it," Helena allowed.

Caleb marveled at how easily the two of them moved back and forth between outright hostility and pleasant agreement. Then again, Doctor Tesla tended to provoke a united front.

"Whatever the case, you know you'll only make him more insufferable if you complain," Helen said. "But if it makes you feel any better, you can report to your superiors that he also sold _me_ a prototype, and has been working to improve it so that it will stun something larger than a person."

Helena's grin was wicked.

"Is that where that monstrosity in the lab came from?" James said. "I should have known."

"I think we'll have to abandon the memory loss function in order to get the kind of power we need to take down a larger abnormal," Helen said conversationally. "But I don't think memory loss in abnormals would be necessary anyway."

"He'd never admit it, but it was a side effect of the device itself," Helena said. "It was never in the plans."

"God spare us from the accidental inspirations of Nikola Tesla," James said fervently, and Caleb found himself in emphatic, though silent, agreement. The vampire was going to invent something someday that would be the death of him. "Now, will you please either be silent or leave me alone so that I might finish my book?"

Neither Helen nor Helena laughed as they quit the sitting room, but as he followed in their wake, it was all too apparent to Caleb how badly they wanted to.

* * *

_Present Day_

If there was one thing that Will Zimmerman knew with complete certainty, and there might, he admitted, only be this one thing, it was that he was completely normal. Smart, yes, and not bad looking, but mind-numbingly normal. He didn't get feelings, he didn't get hunches. He noticed clues and put pieces together. He had no special powers at all. Well, not on his own anyway. After India, he was a bit more open to the idea, but he still knew himself, and knew that he was normal.

It was with some alarm, therefore, that he found himself standing inside the door of the Sanctuary knowing, absolutely, that something was wrong. Nothing appeared different. Nothing was dirty or covered in blood. There was nothing pungent enough for him to smell. But something was wrong, all the same, and he was starting to get a little bit uncomfortable.

"Jet lag?" Henry said from behind him. He shifted his backpack.

"Henry, we didn't leave the time zone," Will pointed out.

"I know," Henry said. "I just couldn't think of another reason why you'd stop dead in the door way when we clearly, clearly both need showers."

"Do you smell something besides us?" Will asked.

"No," Henry said after a few experimental sniff. "Should I?"

"I don't know," Will said. "Something seems off."

"Definitely jet lag," Henry said, pushing past him into the foyer.

Will followed him up the stairs towards the residential wing. He was probably wrong, anyway. If there had been a problem, Magnus would have called. Or someone would have met them in the foyer. Or something would be on fire. Instead, all was quiet and nothing seemed untoward. It was probably just left over nerves from the mission.

When he got to his room, he took a few moments to just relax in the blessed quiet. Henry was a great guy and all, but he talked _a lot_, and Will was grateful to have some time alone with his thoughts for a change. Eventually, though, he concluded that he really did need a shower, so he went into the bathroom.

At last refreshed and feeling like himself again, Will checked the clock and realized it was nearly noon. They'd gotten an early start this morning, and the flight had been short. Even though it had been a rough couple of days, he wasn't really all that tired and the shower had revitalized him. He decided to head down to Magnus's office and give his report over lunch.

Once he was back in the hallway, the sense of wrongness came back to him, as strong as it had been in the foyer. Again, he shrugged the feeling off, and continued to walk down the hallway.

When he got to the office, Henry was already there, fiddling with something on his tablet and Kate was ensconced on the sofa with a cup of tea. Henry looked a bit bewildered, and Will wished that he'd forgone the shower and come straight here so as not to be out of the loop. He held up a hand and started to apologize, but Helen cut him off.

"Don't worry, Will," she said. "It's not a problem."

"What's going on?" he asked, taking the seat beside Kate. Her eyes were tight, but not as questioning as Henry's. Whatever was going on, Kate already knew some of the details.

"We have a new guest," Helen said. "She's in the SHU until we can determine the best place to keep her permanently."

"She's dangerous?" Will said.

"Extremely," Helen said.

"What kind of abnormal are we talking about here?" Will asked. Henry coughed uncomfortably.

"She's not abnormal, Will," Helen said.

"I don't understand," Will said. "Why is she in the SHU?"

"You asked me before if I knew H.G. Wells," Helen said. "And I told you the truth when I said that I did. What I didn't mention was that H.G. Wells was in truth _Helena_ Wells, and my very good friend."

"H.G. Wells was a woman," Will said slowly, turning the information over in his head. It was hardly the most unusual piece of information he'd ever learned at the Sanctuary, but experience had taught him that it was usually best to take these types of thing slowly, as they had a habit of spiraling out of control in a hurry.

"She _is_ a woman," Helen said. "After her daughter was murdered, she became exceedingly violent, and the organization she worked for took rather extreme measures."

Will listened as Magnus explained the Warehouse and their particular brand of justice, as well as the events that had led to H.G. taking up residence in the SHU.

"Did she design any of our security systems?" Will asked when Helen was done. Because of course an author that Magnus knew would also be the inventor of many of the things in her novels.

"Yes," Helen said. "Nikola is working on it. Henry, I think he is hoping you'll join him."

"Never a dull moment!" Henry said with false bravado in his voice. He headed out, somehow managing to walk and keep working on his tablet at the same time.

Kate caught the look that passed between Will and Helen and announced that she was going to find some lunch. Once she was gone, Helen sat down on the sofa facing Will. Her face was set, as though she was expecting him to yell at her, but he was still reacting to the information she'd told him and couldn't muster the effort yet.

"Is it going to be as bad as it is with Druitt?" Will said finally.

"I shouldn't think so," Helen said, her voice softening. "John's madness is entirely external. Helena's pain is personal and I am hoping I can reach her, if given enough time."

"I'd like to speak to her as well," Will said.

"No," Helen said, sitting up ramrod straight on the sofa.

"This is why you hired me," Will said, leaning forward slightly. "To be a psychiatrist."

"Not with her," Helen said. "I know it's an unorthodox request given your experience and your background, but I really must insist, Will. Under no circumstances are you to talk to her."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to chase her down again after she tricks you into helping her escape," Helen said sharply.

"Now you're just insulting me," Will said, slumping back into the sofa.

"I _know_ you, Will," Helen said. "And I know her. Believe me, it's for the best."

Will stood up and started for the door without waiting for a dismissal or a polite end to the conversation.

"Oh, and Will?" He turned to look at her, shoulders stiff with annoyance. She was reading a file and didn't even look up when she spoke.

"What?" he said.

"Pass that along to Henry as well, would you?"

Will left the office muttering under his breath.

* * *

TBC...**  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_1895_

"It wasn't supposed to make you cry," Helena said. She crossed her legs under her skirt so that she sat on Helen's bed.

"It just surprised me, that's all," Helen said.

She had retired early to finish the novel, and when Caleb sensed her distress, he had discreetly informed Helena. Helena, who had been preparing to depart for the Warehouse, had gone up to Helen's sitting room instead, only to find her friend tucked in bed with a number of handkerchiefs at hand.

"I'm now a little bit curious, however," Helena said. "Is it because I twisted poor Nigel so badly? He rather thought it was funny."

"No, it's not Nigel," Helen said. "Though I can see how he would be amused."

She paused and blew her nose in a most unladylike fashion. Helena smiled. She was quite glad that she had been introduced to Helen Magnus. They were rather kindred spirits in many regards, for all their natures differed.

"When you discovered you were pregnant, were you afraid?" Helen said, somewhat unexpectedly.

"Not particularly," Helena said. "I had no reputation to speak of, and my family was more concerned with its own survival than my purity."

"You never considered marriage?" Helen asked.

"Of course I did," Helena replied. "Christina's father is a suitable enough man, I suppose, but there was never a tremendous amount of passion between us."

"Then how," Helen began before she stopped and turned pink.

"Really, Helen, at your age," Helena said, laughing. "It was more along the lines of experimentation."

"That much I do understand," Helen said.

"My dear Helen," Helena said. "That much even _James_ understands."

They laughed together at that, and Helen felt the weight of the feelings the book had so unexpectedly evoked lessen.

"I was terrified," Helen said. "When I found out, I mean."

It hung there for a moment between them, Helena staring at her face and Helen looking down at the bedspread, fiddling with loose threads. When she looked up, though, her expression was as confident as Helena had ever seen it.

"When?" Helena said quietly.

"It was in 1888," Helen said. "My daughter, or son, would be the same age as your Christina, if…" she trailed away.

"Did you miscarry?" Helena asked as gently as possible.

"No," Helen said. "Not exactly. It was complicated."

"Because of your station?"

"Because I discovered I was pregnant shortly after I discovered the baby's father was in fact Jack the Ripper."

"Oh, Helen," Helena said, leaning forward to take the other woman's hand. "I – he's the one, isn't he? The one none of you will ever talk about. Your fifth."

"Yes," Helen said. "He could move instantaneously from place to place in a flash of brimstone. He could even take others with him. That's how he avoided the police, not to mention James, and how he evaded the bullet when I shot him."

"You shot him?" Helena said, surprised that even Helen would go that far.

"Yes, and I would do it again," Helen said. She looked away, though, and Helena doubted her.

"What happened to your child?" Helena said, hoping to steer the conversation somewhere else.

"Once I talked him out of marrying me, James and I developed a way to extract it, before my seventh week," Helen said, as though it had been as simple as collecting a blood sample. "It's in the basement, in a special flask inside a box of Nikola's design, frozen until I decide what to do. James, and you now, are the only ones who know."

For one of the few times in her life, Helena found herself completely bereft of words. She lay down on the pillow beside Helen instead, as though they were sisters in one of those insipid novels that Jane Austen wrote. Their fingers still twisted together on top of the bedspread.

"It was the blood, I think," Helen said finally. "It made him unstable. He was never cruel before."

"It wasn't you fault," Helena said.

"It was my experiment," Helen said. "I held the needle myself."

"And his actions were his own," Helena said. "Like Griffin's were, my Griffin, not yours. He allowed himself to be taken over, and he needed to be stopped."

"I'm not sure I stopped him," Helen said. "We hear about murders every now and then. James thinks it's him."

"You will stop him, though," Helena said. "One way or another."

"I will," Helen said.

"I thought about having Kemp save Griffin, you know. Appealing to his better nature," Helena said. "I decided it was a better story if he died."

"That's the way a man would tell it," Helen said.

"As far as anyone knows, a man does tell it," Helena said, a bit sad, but not truly regretful.

"I'm glad I'm not in one of your books," Helen said. "Or one of Doyle's, even. I have no desire for immortality."

"I wonder if that's why you got it?" Helena said thoughtfully.

Helen said nothing in reply, but held more tightly to her hand. When Caleb walked past the doorway thirty minutes later, making his final rounds of the evening and ensuring that everyone in the house was safely in bed, they were both asleep.

* * *

_Present Day_

Nikola rapped his nails on the glass. It was a sharp sound, no less so than if he'd still had claws, but one that was quiet enough that she could ignore it if she chose. She didn't.

"They've gone then, the Regents." Helena never asked questions when she didn't have to. It was one of the reasons he'd liked her so much.

"Yes, they've gone," he said. "Disappeared back to whatever run of mill jobs they do when they're not orchestrating world events. I still can't believe you picked them over us all those years ago."

"I may have regretted it a few times, myself," Helena said. Nikola managed not to wince. "I might have guessed you'd still be alive."

"Not for lack of other people trying to kill me, I assure you," Nikola said lightly. "And most recently some very unpleasant bugs. But yes, I am still alive."

"The Regents would probably love to get their hands on you," Helena said. She'd kept his secret all those years before, even when he was working alongside her, even after he'd stolen the Tesla and named it for himself. He wondered if that loyalty had changed too.

"James is dead," he said softly instead, hoping to change the subject. "Nigel too."

"I'm sorry," she said. Her words were cold, and he knew she didn't actually care. Or at least that she was pretending not to.

"James made sure all your novels got published," Nikola went on as though he hadn't noticed. "Even hired someone to pose as the male you."

"James hated my books," Helena said flatly.

"No, James hated you," Nikola corrected. "He hated you because he spent his whole life pretending to be something he wasn't, and you never did. If it makes you feel any better, he despised Oscar Wilde for much the same reason, syphilis and all."

Helena approached the glass, looking intrigued but still deathly angry with him.

"An actor called Orson Welles did a radio play of "War of the Worlds" in the late '30s." Nikola laughed at the memory. "Helen and I listened together. They thought it was real. There was panic in New York. It was hilarious."

"I'm sorry I missed it," Helena said. If he hadn't known her better, Nikola might have thought she was relaxing into the talk with him. But he did know better, and knew that this was Helena at her most dangerous.

"It was a sight," he acknowledged. "Did they tell you much about the World Wars?"

"Yes," she said. "I'm sorry, Nikola."

This time she really did sound like she meant it, and he hardened his heart.

"I went a bit crazy for a while there," he said cautiously. "During the war and after it. Attacking Germans in the woods and so on. And then I spent half a century trying to take over the world and restore the glory of_Sanguine Vampiris_."

"And dear Helen stopped you," Helena guessed.

"Of course she did," Nikola snorted. "I never expected otherwise. But that didn't stop me from trying."

"Is this the part where you tell me that you've changed and I can change too?" The false sincerity in Helena's voice cut through any kind feelings he might have been starting to have towards her.

"I haven't changed a bit," he said. "Well, I have, but that's a long story and it's not really important. My point is that if I thought I could take over the world, I'd be back at it in a moment."

"You always used to think you could do anything," she said.

"I still do, more or less," he said, a smile creeping across his face for the first time since he'd decided to come here. "I merely find that my priorities have shifted."

"Mine have not," Helena said, and her face hardened.

"The problem with being Bronzed, I think, is that all you can do is sit there and contemplate things. You can't actually do anything," Nikola mused.

His apparent change of subject caught Helena off guard. Her eyebrows went up as she tried to follow his train of thought.

"That's why it's a punishment, Nikola," she said.

"Not a very good one," he said. "And it certainly doesn't lend itself to rehabilitation. I don't understand why they didn't just kill you and have done with it."

"I don't pretend to understand the Regents," Helena said. "But if it makes any sense, I think the Warehouse itself might have liked me."

"Now, making you watch, unable to help or prevent anything from happening to the people you care about,' Nikola drawled as if she hadn't said anything at all, leaning his forehead against the glass and looking straight into her eyes, "That's punishment."

"Did she forgive you?" Helena said quietly, glancing down at the floor and then back to meet his gaze once more.

"More or less," he said. "I think she's come to understand it, anyway. The real trick is getting her to forgive herself for not stopping you."

Helena pressed her forehead to the glass and closed her eyes as though she could feel him, as though he was a comfort to her. They had been friends, colleagues and competitors in a way more friendly than any of his other rivals. She had been a dreamer, like he was, determined to make things happen because she saw them in her visions and willed them to come to pass. They had always been the same, except she had loved another person and he had loved his work. It had made them both a little mad, in the end, but he had more or less healed.

"How does one do that?"

"You let her stop you," he said. Then he turned and walked away from her before he did something stupid.

* * *

"Did you talk to her?"

"Of course. I couldn't just let her sit down there all alone. Besides, it scared young William away."

"I told him not to talk to her."

"Which is probably exactly why he's trying to. Have you learned nothing in all your years?"

"I'm really not in the mood for that right now. Do you think there's a chance?"

"You're Helen Magnus. There's always a chance."

* * *

**TBC...****  
**


	4. Chapter 4

And here is the final chapter! Thank you for following along. This was something of an experiment in writing for me, and I'm glad to share it with you.

**Chapter 4**

_1900_

The cook was long in bed and there was no reason to linger in the kitchen at so late an hour, but Caleb couldn't sleep. He sat on the low wooden bench with his feet stretched out towards the dying fire and his hands wrapped around a cooling mug of mulled cider. Carefully, he let his guard down, the better to feel what nagged at the edge of his senses.

The household asleep, mercifully, which meant that as he opened his mind he wasn't in danger of picking anything up from them, nor of influencing them inadvertently. He reached out then, seeking the edge of his consciousness and the worry that hovered there, keeping him restless and unable to settle. Whatever it was, it was coming closer.

Caleb stirred the fire, in preparation for the arrival, and had just stood up where there was frantic knocking on the kitchen door. He sensed fear and a sadness so deep it very nearly enveloped him. And he sensed anger, stronger than he had ever felt before. He took a moment to put his barriers back in place, while the hammering at the door continued, and then crossed the room to open it.

"Miss Wells!" he said, surprised. Usually he could tell when someone he was familiar with was approaching. Perhaps the sheer weight of her emotions had muffled his finer senses. "Come in, please."

He hadn't seen Helena Wells since Dr. Magnus had informed him of Christina Wells's murder in France the previous year. He was surprised to see her now, and so late in the night, but he did not hesitate to bring her into the kitchen and install her in one of the chairs.

In the firelight, he could see that her face was drawn and sharp, and there was something new in her eyes that hadn't been there the last time he had seen her, when she'd signed his copy of _The Invisible Man_. She'd been mischievous then, signing the "Helena" with a flourish and making a comment that someday, she'd publish her books with her own name on them for real. The woman in the kitchen was a pale shade of that liveliness.

"I know it's late," Helena said, "But do you think Helen would see me? It's something of an emergency."

"Of course," Caleb said.

He stepped out of the kitchen and focused his thoughts on the sleeping Doctor Magnus. It was not something he did often, nor something he particularly liked, but it was something they had agreed was appropriate in times of need. He woke her as gently as he could, and knew that she would find her way to the kitchen soon enough.

He stepped back through the door before his mental shield was fully in place again, and was nearly bowled over by the strength of the thoughts rolling off of Helena Wells. She was very nearly out of control with anger and despair, and without thinking of his intent or the consequences, he began to mollify her, soothing her fractured state of mind.

"Dr. Magnus will be down in a moment," he said. He realized abruptly what he was doing, but she was so calmed by it that he was almost afraid to stop, lest the storm be unleashed again.

They sat rather awkwardly for a few minutes, waiting. This was new as well. Before, Helena had always striven to keep him at his ease, joking with him as though they were equals, which she always maintained they were. Her silence was as unnerving as everything else, and he found he was quite grateful when Dr. Magnus finally arrived.

"Helena!" she said from the doorway, clearly shocked. "What on earth – "

She trailed off and looked at Caleb.

"Shall I make tea?" he asked, because it was the first thing that occurred to him.

Helen looked at Helena, her eyes taking the other woman in quickly. "No, thank you. I can manage."

Caleb recognized his cue to exit, but he did not risk going very far down the hallway. For better or worse, he had to maintain his hold on Helena.

Helen waited until the door swung shut behind him before she turned back to her friend. She went and sat next to her, as close as she could manage, and took Helena's hand in her own. It was cold, not yet having warmed up from the chilled air outside. Helen realized that Helena must have walked here, no small risk at this hour, Warehouse Agent or no, and wondered what had gone wrong.

"Why did you preserve your child?" Helena said.

Helen was taken aback. She had not expected anything like this.

"You couldn't bear the thought of carrying John's child," Helena went on, her voice harsh. "Why did you keep it?"

"I suppose," Helen started, and found herself choking on the words. She cleared her throat and started again. "I suppose I hoped that someday I would be able to bear it. That the horror of what John did would fade, and I could find some small joy in memories of him."

"Even if it takes a hundred years?" Helena said.

"Yes," Helen said. "I haven't aged a day since 1886. I have the luxury of waiting."

"Do you think it will be better in a hundred years?" Helena said. "The world, I mean. Do you think the world will be better?"

"I do," Helen said without hesitating. "I'm not particularly upset with it now, of course, but I think my part in the world will only get better."

There was a moment of silence, punctuated by the crackling fire, while Helena considered her words. Helen looked at her and wondered if anything she said would really get through to her friend.

"I wanted to say good-bye," Helena said at length.

"Where are you going?" Helen replied.

"The Warehouse will take me," she said. "I've broken a great many of its rules lately. Been reckless. Bloodthirsty. The Regents won't stand for it anymore."

"I can protect you, if you want," Helen said.

"No," Helena replied, her eyes alight with something Helen wasn't sure she liked. "No, this is what I chose."

They sat for a moment, the fire crackling in the darkened kitchen. There was the sound of a heavy carriage coming to a stop in the street outside the kitchen door. Helena drew a Tesla out from somewhere within her skirts and placed it on the table.

"Helena," Helen began.

"No, Helen," Helena said. "Give my love to Nigel and Nikola, and tell James he is wrong about absolutely everything."

"Helena, please," Helen tried again. There was the sound of boots outside the door.

"If all goes well, maybe we'll meet again," Helena said. She stood and crossed the kitchen. She threw the door open, and the soft glow of the street lamps lit her face. She looked almost happy, and Helen didn't understand.

The men in the street outside grabbed her by the shoulders, even though she didn't resist them, and pulled her out into the night.

In the hallway, Caleb lost his hold on her as she was wrenched away, but just before she was out of his range, he felt her rage uncoil anew.

* * *

_Present Day_

"So you're H.G. Wells," Will said, staring at her through the glass. She seemed so small and harmless. It was hard to believe that she was a famous writer from the Victorian period, and harder still to believe that she was so dangerous he shouldn't even talk to her.

"The one and only," she said with a smile.

"Do you mind if I come in and talk to you?" Will said.

"I'm at your disposal."

* * *

"Boss," Henry said into his radio. "We have a breach in the SHU."

"I'm aware of it Henry," Helen said. "Can you see anything on the monitor?"

"It looks like Will's down," Henry said, grimacing. "I don't see H.G. Wells at all."

"Check the other hallways," Helen said.

Henry had just switched to multiple screen view when he felt the cold metal of a stunner pressed to the back of his head.

"Did you make these modifications yourself?" H.G. Wells said. "I'm impressed."

"Thanks," said Henry. "But I really do prefer it when – "

Whatever it was he preferred was lost to the sound of the gun's discharge, and he crumpled over his computer screens.

"Where are you, Helen Magnus?" Helena said, scanning each monitor.

* * *

Helen was just pouring a second cup of tea when Helena entered the room, gun still raised and guard still up.

"Do you still take sugar?" she said.

"Two, please," Helena said. She didn't lower the gun. "What are you playing at?"

"I might ask you the same question," Helen said. "Do you really believe you've only to knock two people unconscious and walk out the door?"

"It seemed as good a place as any to start," Helena said. She lowered the gun a fraction of a centimetre, and then all the way, though she was still tightly wound. Reluctantly, as though it was against her better judgment, she came forward and perched on the edge of the sofa that faced Helen.

"I have very little patience for people who try to end the world," Helen said, as though this sort of thing was an every day occurrence. And, Helena thought, it sort of was.

"I have very little patience for anything at all, it seems," Helens said sharply.

"Can you truly say you felt nothing for those agents?" Helen said. "For Agent Bering, in particular."

"Don't you dare talk to me about feelings, Helen Magnus," Helena said, finally provoked. "You do whatever you wish, and no one dares stop you because you're crazier than I am."

"That is not true," Helen said. "I have intentionally surrounded myself with people who are not afraid to stop me."

"You could never understand how much pain I was in," Helena said, her voice rising.

"You had no right to take your pain out on the rest of the world," Helen replied, matching her tone.

"So I should hide it away, like you did?" Helena said. "You were so afraid of your own child that you put it in a bottle."

"Ashley died!" Helen turned her head and brought her hand to her mouth as though she could force the words back in. When she looked back at Helena, there were tears in her eyes. She was still angry, but her voice was tightly controlled. "So don't tell me I don't understand your pain," she said through clenched teeth. "Because I do."

Helena slumped back against the sofa, cradling her head in one hand and the stunner in the other. "How did we end up like this?" she said, her voice heavy with defeat.

"No one can run forever," Helen said. "Even invisible men get caught."

"And what happens when they get caught?" Helena said, straightening.

"Well I certainly don't Bronze them," Helen said. "I try to help them. Do you remember Caleb?"

"Yes, your empath," Helena said, a slight smile on her face. "He never would call me by my name."

"He respected you too much," Helen said. "Anyway, he got married in 1906 and had a daughter who also had a daughter, and all of them were empaths. Her name is Sylvia and her grandfather told her all about you."

"Wonderful," Helena said.

"The good things, I assume," Helen said, only a little reproachfully. "In any case, she is one of my freelancers, sometimes but she's getting older and looking for a job that's a little more sedate. If you consent, she can form a bond between you, so that she can monitor your emotions and keep you stable, until you're able to do it yourself."

"So I'd be a zombie?" Helena said distastefully.

"Only if you were in danger of flying off the handle,' Helen said. "If you behave, she'll just be your roommate."

"Where?" Helena said. "If memory serves, empaths prefer a certain amount of isolation."

"Salt Spring Island, Canada," Helen said. "It's actually rather pretty."

"What am I supposed to do?" Helena said. "Contemplate my situation? Invent things for the Sanctuary Network?"

"I always liked your novels," Helen said neutrally.

"I think I'm finished with science fiction," Helena said darkly.

"So write something else," Helen suggested.

"It would be nice to publish under my own name," Helena mused.

"Indeed," Helen said. She held out a cup as though it were an olive branch. "Tea?"

* * *

**Epilogue**

Kate stopped by the infirmary to visit Will and Henry on her way back up to Helen's office. She and the Big Guy, apparently, had been the only ones to take the boss's advice and lay low for the duration of H.G. Wells's visit, and as a result were the only ones not sporting bruises, either physical or emotional, for it. Henry was recovering well enough, and Nikola had confined himself to the library again. Kate suspected he was more hiding from memory than anything else. Will's black eye was actually quite shockingly purple, which Kate took great pleasure in pointing out to him, before the Big Guy had chased her out of the infirmary so the boys could rest.

Helen's office was brightly lit against the night, and Helen was curled up on the sofa reading a book. It was a novel, Kate could tell from the doorway, on account of it being about a quarter of the size of any of the books Helen used for research. Kate craned her neck to see the cover, and smiled as she recognized the empty suit and hat. She didn't need to see the words after that.

"Did you like it?" Helen asked, looking up and waving Kate in.

"I thought the ending was sad," Kate said. "I like happy ones."

"So do I," Helen said. "Good story be damned."

"I do understand why people still read it, though," Kate said. "Maybe that's worth an unhappily ever after."

"You're probably right," Helen said. "Have you ever read War of the Worlds?"

"I wasn't really much for classics before I got here," Kate said. "But I saw the movie."

Helen wrinkled her nose. "You should listen to the radio play. It was hilarious. Nikola probably has a copy of it somewhere."

"I think I might live in the present for a bit," Kate said. "No offense."

"None taken," Helen said. "Though if you tell me you liked Eat, Pray, Love, I may fire you."

"No fear of that," Kate said with distaste. She kicked off her boots and put her feet up on the sofa, sparing a quick look at her boss to make sure she wasn't committing a grievous offense, and put in her headphones.

Helen smiled, and turned the page.

* * *

******fin**

Gravity_Not_Included, March 28, 2011


End file.
